“I’ll talk to her,” he spoke. “Let’s see.” He patted her down with his free hand, brusque, not giving a second’s thought to the fact that she was a girl and a minor.
Ugh.
He reached his hand into her back pocket and when he pulled it out, he had a small knife clasped in it. Not hers. He placed it on the counter.
Ahh, planting evidence to discredit her even more.
The cashier stared at the knife, eyes widening, then she turned her attention to the merchandise. Ignoring him. What the enforcers did wasn’t something that few bystanders were willing to dwell on. But these people wouldn’t step in. Not for a potentially dangerous teenager that had been carrying a concealed weapon.
These guys know what they’re doing, clearly.
Had he been a real enforcer, Lisa would be scared enough. There were stories. People having their fingers broken for shoplifting, being beaten insensate, and there were even tales of the rare girl or boy getting raped by the really twisted fucks.
Just… fuck off. These people aren’t enforcing anything but their own sense of power.
When the enforcer was done making sure the offender in question wouldn’t come back to the Boardwalk, they left the bloodied person in the back of an alley, worked with another to stick them in a dumpster, or if it was late enough that nobody would see, they would toss them off the side of the boardwalk.
Sheesh.
A fifteen to twenty foot drop, depending on the tides and the location of the drop, onto sand or into water that was freezing cold for half the year.
Rest in peace.
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